From Ordinary to Extraordinary
by Manda Panda Bear
Summary: More and more people are becoming aware of their special talents, their genetic differences, and their abilities. However a great evil might threaten their very lives for being different. How will they learn to cope with their new found strengths?
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Okay, I couldn't help it. I can't live till 1-22 without Heroes; so I thought I'd sate myself with this. I hope you enjoy it. :) I took some of these heroes names and locations from the list that Mohinder had. So I don't really own the name, just the powers I suppose. I don't own Heroes and all that jazz. That's my disclaimer._

**Preface**

Janice Parkman flipped through the channels on the television. She had been trying to busy herself for hours. Her husband, Matt, should have been home some time ago. He was slipping away and with each second that passed, as he drifted, she died a little more. She had thought their life was hollow, empty…and their marriage – non existent. She had no idea how wrong she could be. After giving in to physical temptation Matt instantly resurfaced as a part of her life. He was no longer just a body in the bed next to her, a shiftless mass shuffling around the house they shared like roommates. He returned, better than she remembered him and then…he discovered she'd cheated on him.

'He's going to divorce me.' She thought numbly as she clicked through another channel.

It had been several days since he learned of her infidelity and he had been home so little they had barely spoken. She tried to be calm, she tried to let him come to her about it. She wanted to talk to him, she wanted to tell him she'd wronged and she wished should could take it back; but he had to be home for her to take that stance. She longed for him to gather her up in his arms so she could sob on his shoulder. Her own shoulder sank at the idea that he might never return.

She leapt from the couch, partly in shock and partly with hope, when the phone buzzed beside her. She snatched it up as quickly as she could and jabbed the 'talk' button with a shaky finger.

"Hello?" She tried to sound as casual as she could.

"Jan…"

The quiet voice on the other end was familiar and she felt her heart drop. It was a voice she hadn't heard in several years, a voice she wasn't sure she ever wanted to hear again. She gulped, there were so many people she'd wronged in her life…it all catching up with her at once.

"Gina?" Janice hoped her voice didn't sound as timid as it felt.

"Yeah, it's me. I wasn't sure if you'd remember…" the voice was so faint Janice had to strain to hear her. Gina's tone was not that of malice, as Janice expected, more it was something she couldn't quite place; however, it seemed like a plea.

"How could I forget my baby sister?" She toyed falsely. "What's wrong Genie?"

"Jan…" the pauses were painful, Gina was never a shy girl and the hesitance in her voice instantly brought shivers down Janice's spine.

"Gina." She demanded. Her guilt was instantly shed and was promptly replaced with worry. "What's wrong?"

There was another long pause and then the soft voice returned again. "I'm sorry to bother you. I wouldn't normally have called. I need the police and I'm afraid to call the station. Could you send Matt, in his uniform…please?"

"I'm coming!" Janice was on her feet in a second, wringing her hands nervously.

"No!" Gina whispered harshly. "He knows you're my sister. He's never seen or met Matt. Please, if you come he'll kill me."

The receiver went dead and Janice danced around fearfully shaking her hands as she went. Despite their differences, and the things she'd done to Gina in the past, she wanted to run to her sister to help her however she could; but she knew of what Gina spoke. There was a man, an overly physically abusive man by the name of Alan who had leeched onto young Gina and sucked her dry, leaving her devoid of self esteem and worth.

Her fingers moved familiarly over the number pad. She didn't even think about the series she dialed. She paced frantically running her free hand through her hair. The receiver sang rhythmically at her. "Come on, come on, come on…" she gritted her teeth. "DAMNIT!" She growled as it hit the third ring and she knew she'd next hear a practiced voicemail.

"Jan?" Was what came instead.

"Matt! Thank God!" She breathed sending her free hand to her chest. She drew the curtain back and looked out into the black vastness beyond, as if he'd be just on the other side.

"What is it?" He asked uncaringly. Janice knew better, she could tell his lack of emotion was forced.

"It's Gina." She whined just before tears broke her previously dry eyes.

"What?" Honest concern replaced his previous contempt as he obviously perked. "What's the matter?"

"She needs help. Go to her house for me, would you? Right now?"

The genuine worry in his wife's quivering voice broke his heart. Despite how much pain she had caused him he still wanted nothing more than for her to be happy. He loved her with all he had to love and her panic was causing him heartache.

"Yes…yes. I'll go right now." He answered sharply.

"Thank you."

"Yeah."

"I love you." She whispered but received no affirmation.

"I'll be home late. You don't have to wait up."

Detective Audrey Hanson glanced at Matt from across the table where they had several papers stretched out across the surface. Her eyes went back to the array of pages. "Gonna give a little Parkman?"

"Yeah. I'll be back." He said.

Audrey looked up just in time to catch the door close behind him. He was a good and dedicated officer, two traits that carried over into all aspects of his being – he was good and dedicated. She smiled, too few came like that anymore. She hoped, for his wife's sake, that forgiveness was another one of his positive traits.

**Gina Sommers**

**Los Angeles, California**

"Bitch are you on the phone in there?" The shout was so loud it rattled the walls.

Gina didn't respond she simply scooted back as quickly as she could against the wall. The door smacked the paper thin wall when Alan threw it open. He was a massive man who seemed twice as drunk as any normal man ever should be. He scooped up the tiny shaking woman by her narrow neck. Her tear streak face showed no sign of emotion as he chucked her into the living room with ease.

Gina scrambled to her feet automatically. She was so often on autopilot these days. She was far too young to be so coarse. At 22 she should be graduating college and hanging out with friends. Instead she was fighting for her life, hoping each day someone might notice how empty she was, praying her small cryptic cries for help might be noticed. It had been three long years and no one had come to her rescue and now she was deeper in hell than she'd ever been; so rather than wait any longer, relying on others, she reached out to the only person she could think of…her older sister Janice. She knew soon she would die, if she waited any more.

Janice, eight years her senior, had too often used her as a scapegoat or in general mistreated her. All she ever wanted was a big sister to guide her, but Janice had been jealous of the younger girl. It all culminated in her eighteenth year and Gina swore she was going to let her go. But fate had a funny way of making decisions for people and Gina wasn't going to die…if she could help it, and even if she had to ask to be saved.

When he caught her he hoisted her up by her neck again. There was a brief moment where she was certain she lost consciousness. When she came to her head smacked the wall as he slammed her against it hard, he was shouting something but she couldn't discern the words. Her fingers clutched his wrists and she wiggled as best she could. Self preservation kicked in and she began to flail and shout. In a matter of second she had exhausted all the energy she had. She was void of adrenaline and will power. As darkness came on again she felt warm rather than the coldness that usually went with blackouts. The warmth turned to fire and her head exploded just as Matt threw the door open gun drawn.

There was a second where her thoughts flooded into his brain and all he heard was, 'God it's hot in here.' And then there was a loud pop.

Matt thought surly his eyes were deceiving him and his sight processed what had caused the sound. From all over her little frame Gina ejected bonelike spines that sank relentlessly into Alan's flesh. Accompanying her explosive razor-like weapons was a shower of green mist. Both tumbled to the ground and Matt lowered his gun, leapt the half wall and skidded on his knees to Gina who was propped up on her hands breathing hard. Alan lay at an odd angle tiny bone fragments, like porcupine quills, protruding from his thick body. The bones were also still sticking out from her arms, legs, torso and back each dripping with the green liquid. Each pointy talon was denser than the spines that were buried in Alan. They were all just as ominous and threatening as the next, each about six inches in length. Matt reached out and touched the back of her head, the only safe place he could, comfortingly. Instantly she emptied everything that was in her stomach onto the ground in front of her. "Ouch." She managed weakly.

**Angela Petrelli**

**New York, New York**

It was already hard being a senator candidate's wife Angela didn't know how she'd handle it if Nathan actually won the election. There were all kinds of parties and events they had to attend, sometime she had to entertain possible voters without her husband – like now. She was at an art gala smiling and pretending to have a good time. 'If only this cursed wheel chair weren't in my way…'

"Angela!" A shrill voice echoed in glee. Instantly Angela found the best smile that she could and turned to see the wife of some lack in Nathan's crew. The two exchanged quick pleasantries before she started spouting apologies at Angela for her condition.

Angela's tough exterior glazed over and she insisted everything was fine. She turned to the lanky woman strutting along side her just as her eye caught a large canvas painting behind her. "Wait."

"What's wrong?" The woman asked quickly at Angela's haste.

The woman's concern went unnoticed by Angela as she wheeled closer to the art work. What first caught her eye was the man, who looked remarkably like Peter. Upon closer inspection Angela found a tear welling her eye. The piece, titled Miracle by Isaac Mendez, was of what seemed to be a guardian angle helping a woman, who reminded Angela of herself, from a wheelchair and letting her walk while an onlooker smiled happily at the event.

"Nothing…nothing's wrong. I'm just inspired; that's all."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: _A Student of Science_**

**Deltona, Florida  
****15 years ago**

Every kid in central Florida could tell you what summers consisted of. Eight year old Michael Clark was no different; he knew that June, July and August meant no school, tons of playing outside in nothing but a pair of swimming trunks and afternoon showers. Daily between the times of four and four thirty big black clouds would billow in and dump buckets of water along with pounding thunder and cracking lighting. During these events the kids were all called in by their parents and forced to wait it out.

"Michael, Cassie!" Mrs. Clark called from the sliding glass door. "Time to come in kids, it's going to rain."

Both children had been hoping, as all children do, that their mother hadn't noticed the darkening of the landscape and the distant rumbles of thunder. Michael looked at his five year old sister and gave her another backhanded splash of water as he swam lazily toward the stairs of their pool. Her cheeks puffed up and her face turned red as she made to dive for him but he easily escaped her advances.

"Still too slow Cas." He snickered collecting his striped beach towel and drying his face.

"I HATE YOU!" She howled as she clumsily ascended the stairs in rage.

Both children jumped as they heard a loud boom echoing nearby.

"Quit goofing around." Michael changed his tone to seriousness. "Get out of their; you know where there's thunder there's lightning."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." She sang bored like as she climbed from the water. "You know it never really hits the ground. 'Sides it would never really hit us." She smiled as she gave him a hearty shove toward the pool.

He stumbled, his towel still over his head, and tipped off the edge smacking the surface of the pool water hard. He heard Cassie's shrieking giggled then another loud crack. Her laughs stopped suddenly and he felt a strange tickle lick through his feet up his spine and into his head.

When he broke through the top of the water he only heard Cassie screaming. He fumbled with the towel to get it off his face and was surprised to see her, arms rigidly at her sides hollering her head off. Mrs. Clark's foot steps came pounding on the pavement. He could feel little as he wondered what had happened. Mrs. Clark wrapped her arms Cassie and shouted at Michael. "I said get out of there! You've scared your sister!"

Cassie wiggled free as Mrs. Clark waited sternly for Michael to climb out of the pool. When he had completely exited it she pointed an angry finger at him. "Now don't go back in there. Finish drying off and come inside."

Michael flopped his wet towel over the back of the lawn chair next to his sister and glowered at her. "Thanks Cassie." He grumbled. "Now you've gone and gotten me in trouble."

"But…but…but…" she stuttered. "You…the lightening…you…and…"

"Spit it out!" He hissed snatching her towel away from her and drying his head.

"Lightening struck you in the pool!"

**Michael Clark  
****Enterprise, Florida  
****Present Day**

The mid day in early winter was warm on the boat dock of the St. John's River. This area was rarely visited by the boaters and was only used by those who knew the area well. It was quiet and sleepy, that's why 23 year old Michael Clark liked to use it for studying. He was half way through his first semester of graduate school and found the view, with the gentle breeze and mild orange blossom fragrant air peaceful.

He was not alone today as was common place in this particular location. A pot bellied and wrinkled old man was perched in his flannelled shirt and jean overalls on the dock across from the one Michael had nestled himself on under a sprawling oak tree. He was fishing his afternoon away while the college boy read a thick book.

"Whachoo readin' son?" the old man called across the space to Michael.

"A book about the possibility of gene mutation." He responded plainly and reached behind him and lifted another book. "And something about neuroreceptors, neurotransmitters and synapses."

"Say what?" The old man's country twang sounded genuinely confused rather than arrogant as some would expect. "I reckon that an old man like me wouldn't need to know nothin' about neurogenes and the like. I just get by with my fishin' and social security." He chuckled friendly like.

"Not neurogenes." Michael smiled politely. "Neuroreceptors, gene mutation, and synapses."

"Whatchoo talkin' 'bout?" The man asked.

Michael climbed to his feet and headed over to the man. "I think there's something wrong in my brain. That's that I mean." He stopped in front of the old man and pointed down to his feet. At the bottom of his jeaned legs was a pair of shoeless feet. "No shoes." He pointed back at his path. "Solid concrete between you and me."

The old man nodded acknowledging Michael's declarative statements.

"Neurotransmitters are instructions from your brain, telling your body to do an action. Neuroreceptors are things in your brain that accept the command, and synapses are the link in between the two. Like if you think to yourself, 'I want to cast this fishing rod' and then your body follows through with your thought. You follow me?" Michael paused waiting to see if the old man understood what he was saying. When the man stared at him blankly Michael shook his head and started over. "All right, are you familiar with the military?"

"Two wars! I served in two wars sonny; I know all about it."

"Excellent. Consider that the neurotransmitter is the sergeant. And the neuroreceptor is the private. The sergeant, neurotransmitter, tells the private, neuroreceptor, what to do. The words he says, the command, are the synapses. It works the same way in the brain only microscopically."

"And yurs don't work?" The man, now understanding, asked. He looked down at Michael's feet wondering what that had to do with the scatterbrained boy's description of nuero-whos-its.

Michael laughed. "No, I think they over work. See the command, the synapse, fire sparks of electricity."

"Wait, wait, wait." The man held up a hand. "Are you saying we're electrical?"

"I am." Michael nodded. "But not so much that you would notice." He pointed back down to his feet. "I just walked across that concrete ground. The air is humid, as is typical here, which means I have accumulated very little static electricity charge and shouldn't be able to shock you, right?"

"Shock me? Heck no sonny, it ain't the right weather for that!" The man said with a full heart and head of conviction.

Michael raised his index finger and looked at it for a moment and then reached out to the man. As his hand neared the old fellow a purple bolt of electricity jumped from his finger to the man, shocking him. The static electric charge cracked and the man gave a small start. "I'll be dog-goned, that smarts."

"It always happens if I don't think about _not_ shocking someone."

"Every time?"

"Without fail." Michael nodded. "I think my synapses are broken. Or I'm a conductor…or both. I've been struck by lightening 7 and a half times – and survived."

"How's a half?" The old man's interest was piqued and he set his rod aside.

"Well I was a Disney World with my family when I was 12. You know Orlando is the lighting capital of the world right…just behind the rainforests of Africa?" He waved a hand. "Well if you didn't, it is. Being a suburb of Orlando we get lots of lightning. Anyway," the old man noticed that Michael was easily side tracked but he was still patient enough with younger fellow. "Because of the frequent lightning strikes the Disney Company has several lighting rods throughout their parks. I was near one, it attracted the lighting first as it was higher but the bolt promptly jumped to me knocking me out of my sneakers. I consider it a half time, since I wasn't the first target."

The old man was amused by his story and clucked his tongue approvingly. But Michael lifted his arm and rubbed the skin on his forearm then turned his attention skyward. "A storm is coming. I'd put that rod away if I were you. Lighting does strike humans. Trust me." He trailed off absentmindedly but seemed to snap out of it and looked back at the old man. "That rod will act as a conductor."

"Thanks sonny." The old man smiled and reached out to clap Michael on his shoulder but Michael slipped out of is reach. The old man looked hurt at first, but allowed the expression to evaporate as he recalled the last near contact they had had. "Thanks again sonny. I wouldn't wanna get shocked."

Michael gave a small bow to the old man and nodded. "See ya around."

He watched the old man toss his rod and tackle box into the bed of a decrepit looking old rusty pick-up on its last leg. He smiled, it fit the old man's worn but comfortable personality. He moseyed back to his books and bag. The sky was turning gray rather quickly and as a result Michael hurried to pack his books up.

He slung his bag over his shoulder and spun to dash toward the bike rack where he'd chained his cycle just as light rain started to fall from the sky. However, when he turned two men were just behind him. He jumped back instinctively, taking in the appearance of a tall lithe black man and a middle aged man with horn-rimmed glasses.

"Hello Mr. Clark, might we get a word with you?" Asked the man with the glasses…


End file.
